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The After House by Mary Roberts Rinehart
page 121 of 225 (53%)
the cushions of one of the wicker chairs, not sleeping, but staring
straight out, motionless.

With the first light of dawn Burns relieved me, and I went forward
with Singleton. He dropped into his bunk, and was asleep almost
immediately. Then, inch by inch, I went over the deck for footprints,
for any clue to what, under happier circumstances, I should have
considered a ghastly hoax. But the deck was slippery and sodden,
the rail dripping, and between the davits where the jolly-boat had
swung was stretched a line with a shirt of Burns's hung on it,
absurdly enough, to dry. Poor Burns, promoted to the dignity of
first mate, and trying to dress the part!

Oleson and Adams made no attempt to work that day; indeed, Oleson
was not able. As I had promised, the breakfast for the after
house was placed on the companion steps by Tom, the cook, whence it
was removed by Mrs. Sloane. I saw nothing of either Elsa Lee or
Mrs. Johns. Burns was inclined to resent the deadline the women
had drawn below, and suggested that, since they were so anxious to
take care of themselves, we give up guarding the after house and
let them do it. We were short-handed enough, he urged, and, if
they were going to take that attitude, let them manage. I did not
argue, but my eyes traveled over the rail to where the jolly-boat
rose to meet the fresh sea of the morning, and he colored. After
that he made no comment.

Singleton awakened before noon, and ate his first meal since the
murders. He looked better, and we had a long talk, I outside the
window and he within. He held to his story of the night before, but
was still vague as to just how the thing looked. Of what it was he
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